


AN INVITATION TO DINNER

by vanhunks



Series: THE MAN FOR ME - A series for JANEWAY AND PARIS [3]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 16:46:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7540279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanhunks/pseuds/vanhunks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a growing attachment between Kathryn and Tom. Finally Kathryn Janeway plucks up the courage and invites Tom to have dinner with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	AN INVITATION TO DINNER

* * *

Kathryn Janeway was on her third cup of coffee when her ready room door chimed. With the cup in one hand and PADD in the other, she called "enter". She didn't look up from the PADD she was studying.

Two hands rested on the desk, and he leaned forward, waiting for her to look at him.

"You obviously have something to say, Chakotay," Kathryn said as she took a sip and continued fixing her gaze on the PADD.

"How did you know it's me, Kathryn?" She could hear the teasing lilt in his voice.

"Your footsteps."

"My footsteps."

"Hmmm."

"Let me guess: you can discern a person by his footsteps. That means - "

"One more word, Chakotay," Kathryn said as she finally looked up at him with a warning gleam in her eyes, "and I'll eject you in an escape pod."

"I was only going to say you know me too well, Captain."

"Liar."

He ignored that and smiled down at her. Her eyelids fluttered, a sign of her slight discomfiture. He leaned forward over the desk, his face quite close to hers. He wasn't going to let her get away, she realised.

"Well?" he asked, that damned teasing smile there again.

"Well, what, Commander?" Kathryn put the cup down, the PADD following with a soft clink on the desk. She leaned back in her chair, and crossed her arms. It was more to put some distance between them than wanting to get a better look at her first officer.

"Did you do it?" he asked.

"Do what?" she parried.

"It's futile to hedge, Captain."

"Chakotay..." Kathryn sighed delicately, a half-smile softening her features even more. "You're not going to leave me alone, are you?"

Chakotay looked at Kathryn Janeway, and he wondered for a fleeting second whether she was at all aware of how she looked. Her face was flushed, now that her hedging was lost on him and she had given up. Her eyes had a sheen in them that he had last seen on New Earth, when they had linked their hands. He was grateful that he had that time with her, but this, this look on her face... He would beat Tom Paris to within an inch of his life if Kathryn got hurt.

He sighed, then said:

"No."

Kathryn expelled her breath, sat forward again and braced her elbows on her desk. She rested her chin on her hands, smiled sweetly at him and said:

"I asked him to join me for dinner."

"And I take it he said... 'yes'?"

"He said yes."

"If he hurts you, Kathryn..."

"Chakotay, please - "

"Okay, okay, I'll hang up my gloves."

"You'd better," Kathryn said, her face more relaxed than he had seen in a very long time. She smiled at him.

"I don't suppose I get to know any details?"

"No details."

"I'm hurt."

"Go."

"Fine, I'll go, Captain."

********

Kathryn leaned back in her chair again after Chakotay left. Sighing with contentment, she thought of her date with Tom later that evening. It had taken her hours and some ingenious programming to set up the holodeck for their dinner.

Her courage had almost failed her when she confronted Tom the previous evening. She was relieved beyond measure when she didn't see that smirk on his face, and for once, when she asked her question, he looked surprised, almost tongue-tied.

Her heart had thundered wildly as she awaited his response, and it settled into a regular dull thudding that left her at times breathless with happiness that he agreed. He had given her a smile she had only ever seen him give B'Elanna, and for a few moments she basked in it, feeling completely enclosed with him, a cocoon that surround them with warmth. For a few moments she felt she was his exclusively.

It had taken her weeks to summon the courage to approach him. They were weeks in which she battled with any number of things that she perceived as obstacles: her age, her seniority of rank, the unresolved issues between them. On an intellectual level she knew these "impediments" were irrelevant, she merely put them in place as some sort of protection against...what? Her heart? By doing that, was she deliberately delaying the awful moment of truth, a moment she feared with so much intensity?

She didn't want to feel humiliated. The air had literally crackled between them in the corridor near his quarters. She knew it, and Tom, who was no untrained schoolboy, knew it too: the invitation to dinner was more than just an obligatory offer to have a meal with her. She often dined with members of her crew as part of her programme of being more accessible and amenable to them. An opportunity for her to get to know her crew better. But this invitation held a promise of something more. It was the end-product of long hours of pondering on the prudence of a liaison based, she realised, in physical gratification; the conclusion of all her fantasies of being with Tom, in his arms and in his bed. She had made the move, and she sensed as she looked at him last night, that he must have been having similar fantasies.

She had wanted to touch his arm again, but his "I'd be glad to" was so unexpected that she stood there, her hands dropping to her sides. She hoped that her "Thank you, Tom" didn't sound too over eager. He had turned towards his door and within seconds he was inside his quarters. She wondered then what he was thinking.

Kathryn gave a sigh again. She wondered what Tom was thinking right now. Was he filled with the same sense of anticipation that she was? Did he also dream of this dinner as a precursor to something more intimate between them?

 _I'm behaving like a moonstruck teenager_ , she thought as she rose from her chair and left her ready room. In four hours time she would know. She felt a delicious thrill go through her as she thought of spending the evening in Tom's company, admiring his eyes, his smile, touching his cheek, the promise of something more...

**

In Tom's quarters B'Elanna and Harry stood in his lounge and studied him as he walked towards them from his bedroom.

"Well?" he asked them, "what do you think?"

"Well, what, Tom?" B'Elanna asked as she brushed the imaginary dust from his loose-fitting jacket.  Before he had time to answer, she said, "After tonight, I'll probably not be doing this anymore." She emphasized the last words, at the same time giving him a playful slap against his arm.

"After tonight he'll not need us anymore," Harry said with great lack of enthusiasm.

"Oh, come on, Harry," Tom assured him, placing his arm round his friend's shoulder, "I'll always have my friends."

"Fine, now go and charm the Captain," B'Elanna said again, and patted his butt, nudging him towards his door.

"Aren't you going to wish me luck?" Tom asked as he looked at Harry and B'Elanna, a sudden feeling of uncertainty taking hold of him.

B'Elanna was quick to spot it, and said, "Hey, she likes you, Tom. You don't need luck. Now, go!"

"Okay, okay, I'm going," he laughed, then clicked his heels and gave them an old fashioned military salute.

"Tell us about it!" Harry called as the doors slid close after Tom.

"I hope all goes well, Harry," B'Elanna said reflectively long after Tom had gone.

****

When the holodeck doors closed behind Tom, he stood momentarily surprised, a feeling he discharged quickly as he appreciated the decor of the room. Kathryn Janeway must have spent hours on this, he thought as he studied the detail of the restaurant. He spotted her at a table in the far corner, her flaming hair drawing him like a beacon in the dark. He made his way across the floor, keeping his gaze on her as he passed the throng of dancers in the middle.

She was beautiful..

Kathryn Janeway rose from her chair as Tom approached her table, her outstretched hand in a welcoming gesture.

"Tom," she said, "thank you for coming." She smiled at him and when both were seated, he looked at her.

It was her hair again that drew him. In the golden light of the room little flames shot from it. At least, it looked that way to him. She was breathtakingly beautiful tonight, dressed as she was in a black dress that clung to her narrow waist and flared out a little about her ankles. Thin straps secured the bodice, which fit snugly around the gentle swell of her breasts. He swallowed, and became aware that she was staring at him as well.

_I should have worn my tuxedo._

He tried to find the words to express his appreciation of her appearance; he tried to find words that would make what he felt, sound at least original.

"May I say, Captain," he said as he gazed at her, "you look beautiful tonight."

Even before she opened her mouth to comment on what sounded clearly like a cliché, he said, "I meant it..."

"Thank you."

He looked around the room and noticed that even the upper level, separated from them by a balcony, was programmed in, with holographic patrons sitting at their tables, all looking down at the dancers who moved about the floor in an energetic, lively dance.

Their table was one of about ten placed strategically along the perimeter of the dance floor. At one of the tables he spotted a man in a dark suit, with pen and sketching paper in hand. A walking stick was hooked over the back of his chair, just enough to the side that Tom could see it. The man was sitting alone, his only companions the bottle of wine and a wine glass.

"Toulouse-Lautrec. I'm impressed, Captain," Tom said as he looked at her again. "We're in the Moulin Rouge."

"I thought you might like it, Tom," she answered, seeing the enjoyment in his eyes. She gave a sigh of relief. He was here, and he liked her programme. That was enough, for now.

"Definitely. Why," he said again as he looked at the two dancers on the floor, "you didn't even leave La Goulue and Valentin out." The other dancers had parted to let the two colourful characters have the floor to themselves.

"They were an integral part of the Moulin Rouge," Kathryn said, her eyes shining as she looked not at the dancers, but at Tom. She basked in his appreciation of what she'd created. Her heart had skipped a beat, and it was beating erratically now. He looked so handsome, his hair neatly groomed, his blue eyes looking somehow bluer tonight. She watched how his hand rested on the table surface, his fingers drumming to the energetic rhythm of the music.

"And, if I'm not mistaken," he added with a smile which caused her heart to flip again, "the music is Offenbach..."

"Gaîté Parisienne."

"You love the can-can, Captain?"

"It's a very colourful and spirited dance, Tom."

They stopped as a waiter approached their table, tilting the bottle of wine for Tom to read the label.

"Chateau Vin Blanc. Impressive."

"Thank you," she said, and waited for their glasses to be filled.

The waiter left, and Tom raised his glass.

"What shall we drink to, Captain?" he asked, almost giving in to the urge to call her 'Flame'.

"Tom," Kathryn said softly, "we're not in a command structure here, please do call me Kathryn."

"Captain - "

"Please..."

Tom sighed. It was much more difficult than he thought. He looked at Kathryn Janeway, and suddenly, in his mind, he saw her uniform and four pips. He saw the commanding officer, not Kathryn. He cursed inwardly - he had done a lot of that lately - at the way he could feel this whole evening was slipping away from him. It was a game, a charade in which the two of them were the players playing love or passion or desire.  She was unutterably beautiful and petit, and again he felt the old inability to express himself in the way he had always fantasized doing.

He knew she waited for his answer, the anticipation was there, in her eyes, her face, her slightly parted lips to which the glass in her hand was raised.

"I - Captain," he said lamely, "I - "

"I'm Kathryn, Tom," she said quietly, the shine in her eyes of earlier when he'd entered slowly dying, as if she knew what was happening.

"Well then," he said as he raised his glass, "shall we drink to K-Kathryn?" he asked.

Kathryn Janeway sighed. An evening she had been looking forward to was dying on her. She saw all prospects, all anticipation slowly vanishing like mist in the sun. She looked around her, saw the dancers with their riot of colourful dresses going through the motions of the can-can. The images blurred, and in a haze she saw Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec rise from his table, ambling towards them with some discomfort as his cane ticked on the floor.

"Here, for you, Mademoiselle," he said tersely, giving Tom a glaring look before he left again, waddling towards the other end of the room.

The paper landed on the table, but Kathryn ignored it as she looked at Tom. It wasn't working, she thought with despair. He was having problems separating Kathryn and Captain.

She raised her glass, the trembling of her hand not lost on Tom.

"To Kathryn, then," she agreed, and clinked her glass against his before putting it down.

"Yes..."

"Tom - "

Tom saw how she struggled to compose herself as she put out her hand to touch his where it rested on the table. He froze as she touched him, then swore under his breath as she pulled her hand away again, a flash of pain marring her beautiful features. It was bizarre, too bizarre.  Here she was, and here he was, and all he could do was stare at her in dumbfounded worship of a goddess.

He couldn't touch her, and all he wanted to do right now was worship her from a distance. To touch that face, caress those cheeks, run the base of his thumb along her lower lip that trembled, seemed sacrilege.

All that he fantasized about her, blew away and crashed into splinters. She was the Captain of this ship, his commanding officer, the woman who busted his rank. He couldn't think of touching her, kissing her, holding her in his arms as if he would never let her out of his life again. It was not his due, not his fate. He did not deserve her; he had no right to feel what he felt, no right, no right at all.

He scraped his chair as he pushed it away with sudden distaste, disgusted at himself as he saw her rise too.

"Tom, please - "

"Captain, I - forgive me, I'm sorry, I can't - "

His hands shook as he held the back of the chair to push it in. She came round the table and stood in front of him.

"Look at me, Tom, please."

He pulled his gaze away from where the dancers were now moving slowly to the barcarolle. It registered absently that he used to call that piece of music "Fairest Evening". He snorted in disgust. The evening was ruined, and he ruined it. He looked at Kathryn, saw the splinters into which the sheen of tears broke. He swallowed painfully, and tried to close his eyes to block out the shock that he saw in her eyes, shock that was replaced moments later by pain...

"I'm Kathryn, Tom. Kathryn, not Captain Janeway."

"I - " He gave her an agonized look, turned on his heels and made his way quickly through the throng of characters of the floor. The doors of the holodeck closed with terrifying finality behind him.

****

Kathryn stood for long seconds staring at the holodeck doors that closed behind Tom after he fled. Her eyes held an angry sheen of tears which she tried desperately to stop, the final humiliation to an evening which promised so much, so much.

She picked up the sheet of paper Toulouse-Lautrec left on the table and stared at it. He had sketched her and Tom sitting at the table, caught in the moment they were raising their glasses. She and Tom had smiled, displaying none of the pain and distress that followed that particular moment.

It was a vibrant sketch, alive, and she - oh, God, she looked at Tom with her heart in her eyes.

Kathryn gave a sob, her fingers suddenly limp as the sketch slipped from them. It drifted to the floor and landed at the feet of one of the dancers.

Even that is an illusion. It's not real. She gave a deep sigh, and said finally:

"Computer, delete programme."

A second later Kathryn Janeway stood on the empty holodeck, in the centre, and her only companions, the yellow lines of the grid.

 

**END**

**************


End file.
